Favorite Position?
by The Fictionist Aura
Summary: Post 8x03. Twelve and Clara go to visit the famous waterfalls of Davanillia but instead find a desert landscape with inhabitants whose culture revolves around their sexual partners. Awkwardness ensues as the pair must act as a couple while they investigate what happened to the planet. Smut-free.
1. Chapter 1

She felt filthy.

Or perhaps filthy wasn't the proper word. Weak? Emotional? A silly girl.

A silly teenage girl with a stubborn and complete crush on a tall, dark handsome guy. Yes, that was the proper term for this situation. Clara glared at the shower head in frustration as cold water drenched her from head to toe.

For four days in a row, she had been subject to highly inappropriate dreams about her new co – worker, a Mister Danny Pink. His damn flawless chocolate skin that in her dreams smelled of citrus and cinnamon and whose person always pinned her in a school closet. Always the same closet – the same closet the Doctor had given her coffee in and conveniently the only storage closet in the whole school. Each dream had a different, strange plot but always ended in passion in that stupid closet. She had been successful in ignoring the first two dreams, even when she passed the closet at work and more importantly, ran into Danny himself during her lunch.

Tonight's dream, however, was a new and strange setting. Tonight, she had tangled with Danny Pink in the TARDIS.

She woke up mid dream at three in the morning. Immediately she had ran to take an ice cold shower. Now, it was four in the morning and she was getting a classic case of prune fingertips but she had no wish to go back to sleep. She didn't trust her subconscious. And, as far as she knew, she was interested in Danny sure but this level of infatuation? She had never had such dreams, minus…one dream, a year ago.

Yes, the night she woke up after a steamy dream about her big-chinned Doctor, she had screamed and physically fallen out of bed. She had blamed the dream on eating leftover sushi at midnight and her poor choice of romance comedy movies that month. And she had been right since no such dream ever occurred again. Until now.

The dreams had started after she met Robin Hood with the Doctor – the new angry, Scottish Doctor.

She couldn't guess why, only that maybe she was – to use words from her small collection of dream interpretation books – projecting her feelings about Robin on Danny. There. That was logical, sound and made sense. Robin Hood had left her starstruck and in awe. He was handsome, could talk and found her quite pretty. Plus, there was a small part of her that wanted to just kiss him soundly on the lips before leaving. But it was small and not an unusual thought for her.

Clara had a fair weakness for the hero in any story. It was one of the reasons she loved English and literature in general – the struggles of main characters, the triumphs and the great romances. And Robin Hood easily feel into the category and they had flirted effortlessly during her time with him. So, technically, these shouldn't surprise her. Right?

Still staring miserably into the shower head, she wished there was a cure for dreams. Oh, if only dreamless sleep potions were real, she wished. So far, these dreams were just interrupting her sleep and making her blush whenever she saw that damn closet or the teacher himself. But she suspected that there might be only one way to stop them: making them a reality. An idea that her very conscious self didn't have that much hunger for. Not that she even thought it was possible; the man had made it quite clear that he wasn't interested in her approach with his "reading". No, she thought with an unneeded shake of her head, she must not be –

_Thump, thump, thump._

Clara's eyes widened as she turned her head toward the door of the bathroom, covered by her shower curtain. She clutched her chest protectively and popped her head out of the shower to scan the room. She bit her lip. She had left her phone on the nightstand.

_Thump, thump._

This time the thumping was followed by a muffled shout. It was hard to recognize with the running water and Clara had no desire to turn her shower off. It seemed safer to keep it running and have it cover the sound of her padding about. Carefully, she stepped out of the shower onto the fuzzy blood red bathmat nearby and snatched her folded bathrobe from its perch on her towel rack. Her eyes were looking around wildly for something to use as a weapon.

Before she could decide whether the toilet top or the towel rack rod was better, the door knob rattled and seemed to be turning. Without pausing, Clara dashed at the door, body slamming it shut. The door knob was now being furiously turned and the door took a beating as her assailant let out a howl of frustration. She struggled to use all her strength to keep the door shut. With her face smashed against the wood, it was then when she could hear the person on the other side yell, "Clara!? Clara_, CLARA_?"

There were few Scottish men she knew.

The Doctor.

For some reason, the bloody Doctor was wailing her name and pummeling her bathroom door at four in the morning and she felt a rush of relief for a brief second. In that time, her force slackened at the door and the door gave way to the Doctor's pressure. Clara landed hard on her bathroom tile, the robe not helping cushion her fall in the slightest.

"Clara!" The Doctor's tone was suddenly filled with joy and he knelt in front of her before pausing a second. Clara had almost expected him to gather up her head in his hands and question her well – being, like he used to. Instead, he seemed confused as to why he was kneeling on the wet floor with her. His face was now sprinkled with water splashing from the shower. And suddenly she was angry.

The bloody Doctor had wailed her name and pummeled her bathroom door at four in the morning.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" The Doctor's eyebrows knitted in confusion. Clara ignored him and got up from her fall. Clutching her robe like a lifeline, she reached over and turned off her shower. The house was once again filled with silence and she felt like breathing again.

"It's Wednesday, isn't it?" The Doctor was looking particularly unapologetic when she turned her head to look at him. He was now towering over with his hands on his hips. Clara recognized the tone of annoyance creeping into his voice.

"Well yeah but it's four in the morning! What kind of timelord – " here he opened his mouth in defense and Clara just shook her head and bulldozed past his figure out of the bathroom, towards her closet. He followed her naturally. "Never mind, you always did have bad timing. But during my shower really?" She waved her arms for emphasis and turned to face him again.

"Showers are private. As in no visitors. I was naked in there washing – I'm still naked right now," she blinked, as if to only now be aware of her lack of clothing. "It's rude and uncalled for." She said with a note of finality. She was far more interested in putting on clothes than arguing with the Doctor.

"Are you quite done?"

Clara rolled her eyes at his defiance and headed toward her closet once again. Closing the door on the Doctor's looming figure, she began to rummage around for an outfit.

"If you must know, I realized early on my mistake of timing and I was heading back into the TARDIS when I heard your shower running. At four in the morning. You never wake up before 7:30 if you can help it," he raised his eyebrow and waited for her objection. Silence.

"If I remember correctly, the one time I arrived at 7:10, you were knocked out cold and considerably more irritable than normal – "

"Hey!"

"So I thought there was something severely wrong and came in to make sure you hadn't fallen asleep and drowned in the bath or something else equally endangering. You know, if you had bothered to answer me, maybe I wouldn't have to break in – "

"I'm sorry, if you were in a vulnerable area, such as a shower and you hear someone knocking when you know you live alone, would you answer them?"

"It's common courtesy!"

"No, you, sir, know nothing about courtesy. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, breaking into my bath or having a conversation through my closet door!"

Clara continued to button up her blouse as the Doctor grumbled unintelligently. She sighed at her wet hair before opening the door to enter her bedroom. But instead of a sulky Doctor, she looked out into an empty room.

"Doctor?"

A muffled response floated from her living room area and she frowned as she followed the sound.

"So much spinach," he mumbled, glaring into the fridge like it had personally offended him. His eyes scanned the fairly healthy contents of the fridge before decided on a raw red potato. When he popped his head back, Clara was frowning at him. She wore a wine red chiffon blouse tucked into a simple black mini black skirt with dark green stockings and her typical black heels. Very much school girl style, not that he would dream of telling her such. He bit into the potato absent – mindedly. Clara looked horrified.

"You can't eat that raw!"

"Don't worry, I'm a doctor," he said, his eyebrows doing another wiggle.

Her mouth twitched at that but she didn't respond, just sat down on one of her stools and hugged herself.

"So," she watched him continue to chop on the potato as she asked, "where are we headed today?"

"Davanillia, particularly famous for their Waterfall Walk of Wonder, as the tourist booklet says." He pointed vaguely to her backyard, where no doubt the TARDIS is sitting something inconvenient. "Since it's my choice, I wanted somewhere relaxing, with real people and such." It was a light jab about Robin Hood but she ignored it. Her stomach was already doing flips at the sound of "waterfall".

"What's so special about their waterfalls?"

Her eyes had already lit up in that hungry excitement the Doctor was secretly fond of.

He just smirked in reply and nodded toward his police box. "Well that's what we're going to find out. Apparently, it's a stunning walkway surrounded all around by water and lush…greenery I think they said." He ate the last bit of the potato and immediately started heading out.

Clara caught up with him fairly quickly, grinning ear to ear without noticing. She had always wanted to go to Niagara Falls.

**AN – I'm in love with the Twelve/Clara relationship and have this giant plot bunny in my head. However, as usual, updates will be slow, especially with university starting up again. If anyone is interested in betaing or knows a good one, please let me know – I would really like one for this story (I'm not that familiar with Clara and feel I write her OOC. Twelve is rather new to me as well). **


	2. Chapter 2

**AN – half silly/half fluff – you have been warned.**

For a Timelord, he had the tendency to be rather impatient. Part of her had thought that perhaps an older face would mean more patience. But it seemed that the part Scottish alien blood (she wasn't sure what else to call it) overrode any sense of tolerance.

"Why do you need to dry your hair, it's only just get wet again!" They had already landed on the planet and spent three minutes arguing about Clara's hair. Clara wanted to dry it; The Doctor just wanted to leave.

"Because I need to look presentable. Just because you can get away with a wild puff of gray on your – "

"It is not wild – you know what, fine. Go," he waved excessively with his long arms toward the TARDIS bedrooms, "Go style your hair all pretty to have humidity in the air and actual waterfalls ruin it, please."

Jumping in victory, she headed off to her bedroom in the TARDIS, where she had a travel size hair dryer and straightener prepared for just such occasions. After all, her Doctor – she meant the Doctor – never did pick the most convenient times to pick her up. Bad timing, as she said earlier.

As she reached for her bedroom door handle, a long arm cladded in black fabric slammed on the door itself. Before she realized it, the arm had linked into hers and was dragging her deeper into the TARDIS.

"He-"

"That little pinwheel you have there isn't going to cut it for your thick hair this short notice. You'll have to use mine."

The statement had stunned Clara into silence. She didn't know which was more unexpected: the Doctor actually noticing her hair type or that the Doctor had a hair dryer. Well, perhaps a hair dryer wasn't that much of a stretch: Chin-boy had quite the headful.

She could only assume that he was dragging her to his bedroom, one place she had never been in his TARDIS. Before, the Doctor never seemed to have his own bedroom, let alone sleep. He was always wandering about the console room, staring into clumps of wiring. The only reason she was aware that he had a bedroom was that River would tease him a lot about it constantly. River had described a few furniture items in the room (where she would like to be bent over), which meant that at some point, she had been in his bedroom. Hence, such a place much exist.

After this carnation of the Doctor had such a fit about bedrooms though, she couldn't help wondering if River just made up things to fluster both the Doctor and herself. Like before, The Doctor now never slept but instead of the control room, hovered around an old chalkboard upstairs or the observatory she had discovered existed a week ago. He had been obsessed with star – gazing recently. Books on space and astrology had been thrown carelessly all over the TARDIS's floor.

Finally, they had reached a red door that the Doctor pushed open. He also had no problem half dragging half carrying her inside the room.

But it wasn't a bedroom.

It was a…salon?

It could be described as a hairdresser's wet dream. To the right, there were one elevated spinning chair in front of a large mirror vanity. Laid out on the table was a full sized hair dryer, hair straightener and curling wand, complete with heat resistant gloves. There was a cabinet on either side of the mirror that she later discovered had hair rollers and even a crimper. She could barely make out a sink and chair for washing in the far corner. But on the left side was the most incredible thing. It was like a beauty store with rows and rows of hair products. Without even realizing it, she had unlinked her arm from the Doctor and was going up and down the giant aisles of products on display. Shampoo, conditioner, deep conditioner, leave in conditioner, heat protectant and one whole side dedicated to hair spray, hair mousse and hair gel. All extra hold. Some brands she couldn't afford on a simple teacher's salary and others she didn't recognize from anywhere on Earth.

She glanced back at the Doctor to see him standing just where she left him. He had his arms clamped behind his back and wore a pure look of smugness on his face.

"You were saying about my gray puff?"

Of course he had come here to prove her wrong.

She closed her dropped jaw and gathered up some heat protectant and hair spray before sitting down on the chair. The Doctor nimbly grabbed the hair dryer and plugged it in before she blinked. She gave him a questioning expression.

"I can do it."

"Do what?"

He rolled his eyes before starting to comb her hair – where did he get a comb from – and snorted. "The thing you've been so viciously defending, your hair."

Her face was doing the perfect impression of a goldfish and he let out a dry chuckle as he continued to prep her hair with heat protectant. His fingers brushed against her scalp gingerly.

"Ten was quite the vain fellow. He – I – always was on the lookout for the perfect products in all of time and space for his hair. He styled it every day – he would have been it hourly if given the chance." He mumbled another sentence that had the name "Rose" in it as he turned on the hair dryer. Instead the usual loud whirl of hot air Clara was used to, it was deadly silent and radiated medium heat on her head. "33rd Century Earth technology," he said in answer to her unspoken question. Again, he produced a round brush out of nowhere and was proceeding to it through her hair while blow drying it. He was mirroring her own hair dresser from home's actions and seemed to be enjoying it immensely.

At least, that's what she thought. She was fairly certain the Doctor could find some machine to style your hair with a press of a button rather than the old brush and dry technique. Looking at his face, she could see now why he had the hair dryer instead. He wasn't exactly grinning but his wrinkles relaxed and his eyes followed the brush with great care and concentration. It was bizarre and yet, weirdly like him.

"And my last body had a lot of hair to upkeep though I wasn't as obsessed with it as before. And this…thing has grays to deal with. Not nearly as long or demanding as far as maintenance goes but I don't wake up like this." Here he addressed Clara's reflection in the mirror and noticed how she was trying not to laugh.

"What?"

"Do you…do you curl it?" She nodded toward the curling wand that laid diagonally on the vanity.

"My curls are natural," he said in a posh tone, continuing to work on her ends with gusto. "That was Amy's, she loved this room more than her own husband."

Clara just watched as he continued to curl in her ends with the utmost care. It was fascinated that the same angry lunatic that had sassed at her for wanting to do her hair was now giving her a nicely styled bob look.

"Don't breathe." The Doctor used his left hand to cover her eyes and she instinctively grabbed his hand with both of hers. As usual, his fingers were long, wiry and warm. She absent – mindedly poked at his knuckles as he sprayed hair spray all around her person. She could hear his other hand fanning away the fumes wildly before he finally lifted his hand from her eyes.

"There. Ten minutes compared to your thirty and much better looking." Clara gave his a dirty look through the mirror but found she couldn't quite disagree with him.

"At least you'll have a job in case saving the world weekly doesn't pan out for you," she shook her head a little and touched her turned in ends with her fingertips. Not bad at all.

The Doctor just speed out of the room, and yelled "Hurry up!" over his shoulder. She deliberately took her time to get to the front door of the TARDIS where he was already sulking, tapping his left foot in a funny pattern.

"Finally."

He opened the doors and stepped out into –

Dust.

His first step caused a small dust storm and Clara coughed into her sleeve, eyes wrinkled in confusion.

"I thought you said lush greenery."

He did too. Briefly, he wonder if he had messed up the coordinates but immediately squashed that idea. He had checked three times, in his hast to arrive just before tourist season.

"Maybe you made a mis-"

"I checked three times, no, this is it." They both looked out into a light brown landscape. Not even a cactus in sight.

"Are you- "

"I'm positive!" He said sharply, taking a few more steps into the area. Clara carefully followed his steps, recovering her mouth with her sleeve. "However, I think we ought to choose a different time, maybe that will- "

_Thud._

The pair turned around to find that the TARDIS had shut her doors. The Doctor quickly ran and yacked at them but in vain. They were locked out.

"Blast you, Old Girl!" Even his screwdriver did nothing for them. He was now hitting the blue wood with a fist.

"Yelling at her like that won't help!" The Doctor pounded on the door regardless and Clara pinched her nose with a sigh. "Look, maybe she's just telling us to go have a look see – maybe the falls themselves are some way close by."

"No, no, this doesn't make sense. The guide book said lush greenery and water everywhere. And it was a new copy, only 300 years old!" He had stopped pounding on the door and was just talking to it now. "Nothing this drastic happens naturally in 300 years."

"Nothing?" Clara's mind briefly thought of global warming and the estimated times left for the sun to take out Earth.

"Nothing natural."

**AN – This just happened – I'm so sorry, it's like a crack fic chapter but for some reason, I couldn't stop writing it. Anyways, reviews are love and I promise the next chapter won't be as banter – saturated. **


	3. Chapter 3

They had been walking in a straight line for at least forty – five minutes before they finally found a silvery structure that looked something like civilization.

"Oh God, I hope they had water somewhere. Why would anyone decide to set up a civilization in the middle of a desert? Why not a tropical forest or – a rainy London?" Clara huffed.

"Not everything in the universe is customized for your convenience." His eyebrows seemed to sneer at her complaints.

She just shook her head. Her legs were fairly shaky from trying to balance in the shifting sands and she was certain that she had at least three signs of dehydration. The Doctor, on the other hand, was acting like a college student on five hour energy. Half hopping, half jumping, the Doctor's legs seemed to defy gravity and ignore all the laws of physics, along with his usual time and space defiance. Idly, she wondered if his legs were spring-loaded in their bones, like a clicking pen. Certainly would explain a lot.

"Come on, Clara. Do try and keep up." He was now gesturing wildly from behind him as he practically leaped toward the structure.

She just gasped in reply. Her shoes sunk into the sand repeatedly and with her added exhaustion, each step felt more like a dragging sensation. And realistically, the chrome building type thing didn't look too promising. It rested on top of a glass like surface that served as the sidewalk and ground of the town. A town that, mind you, was like a floating saucer for about a dozen shiny buildings. In the distance, she would make out little walking figures moving about. It was very Star Trek-esque.

It didn't exactly scream homey.

The first three buildings were twenty or so stories high and directly reflected the sand dunes that surrounded them. "A grid design on the surface - perhaps texturing for sand storm winds...no, no, most likely cosmetic. " His eyes aggressively scanned the architecture.

"What are you mumbling on about now?"

He didn't reply.

"Doctor?"

"Why have them reflect...why not see-through…" Under his breath, he continued to speculate.

They were about a yard or so away from the edge of the town when Clara finally seemed to catch up with his train of thought.

"Are you seriously debating the reasons behind their choice of architecture at a time like this?" She had sweat in places she didn't really need to acknowledge right now. Heatstroke seemed like a close possibility.

The Doctor finally turned his head, face on the defensive. "At least I'm attempting to pass the time in some productive fashion instead of…" here his hands flopped about again, "your moaning and heavy breathing."

"Well, I'm sorry I'm not a 2000 year old alien with magical pores and an endless supply of energy! Need I remind you that your TARDIS is several miles away from this place - wherever this place is since it is certainly not Davanilia - and that we are completely unaware of what species lives here, what they eat, if they have water or if they are hosti-"

The Doctor stepped on the glass platform on the city as he began to drown out Clara's ranting. He had found the secret to ignoring her voice when he didn't need or want to listen to her most likely sound arguments. As of now, her voice was like a hum in his eardrums.

The closest building to them had the title of "The Inviting Inn" with a lasered in motto of "We make all our guests come again and again."

"Odd motto…"

"Are you even listening to me anymore? Oh, why do I even try…" Her voice trailed off as she read the sign. " 'make'?...Doctor?"

"Maybe it's forceful marketing." He shrugged, swallowing the strange fluttering in his stomach. He was thousands of years old and he was not scared at all by the strange wording at the door of a hotel that is very clearly in Davanilia.

He took a step forward to mask his hesitation and subconsciously puffed up his chest.

Both of them shared a shaky breath before the Doctor reached out and knocked on the stainless steel door. There are a silence as they stared at the plain plate of steel continue to block their way.

"Ma-"

_Whish._

"Welcome to the Inviting Inn!" Breasts.

A pair of breasts attached to a thin feminine body had burst through the door. The woman was platinum blonde with a single red streak framing the right side of her oval face. Her eyes were a strange color of violet that clashed something terrible with her teal lipstick. Her attire was perhaps the least off-putting - a very tight fitting black pencil with an equally tight shred of white chiffon covering her torso. "Please, come in!"

Her voice was gravelly despite her appearance and that was about the only thing that made Clara feel comfortable enough to enter the hotel.

The interior of the building was the opposite of modern. With a deep ruby and gold theme, there were sofas and carpets everywhere. As Clara looked around, she could have sworn she saw a pair of swings in the corner. And as they walked toward a central help desk, she noticed that all the sofas were the same design and shape, only different material.

"Only the best tantra chairs for our guests, ma'am." The hostess had noted her staring. "Made out of leather, fur, cloth, stone, nails - we try best to meet the range of all different sorts of wants and needs."

The Doctor nodded absent-mindedly to the sale pitch. To be honest, the curled chairs looked too stiff and rigid for his liking. At least in this body. Even the mustard yellow velvet one they just passed looked like it would stab his bony bum.

"Here we are," the hostess tapped at the granite top of the help desk and nodded toward the other worker at the desk. "My Tanya here will help you personalize your visit."

Tanya was a short, black woman that for some reason was dressed in a leopard print body suit. Her sharp green eyes wandered lazily over Clara's figure before beaming at the Doctor. "Welcome to the Inviting Inn. How may I help you today?"

Clara hugged herself self-consciously. A look like that made her think she had forgotten to wear clothes this morning.

"Yes, I would like to stay here for...five days or so? We're just here visiting Davanilia - shouldn't be too long."

"Is this your first time visiting Davanilia, sir? And ma'am?" Tanya had already began pulling out a brochure labeled "The Divine Davanilia Experience".

"It is…" here the Doctor gave Clara a significant look as if to dare her to question again where they were. She just rolled her eyes in reply.

"Then here is a booklet with all of the greatest attractions we had to offer. Now as for your lodging - "

"I'm sorry, do you have anything to drink?" Clara interrupted, tired of ignoring her dry mouth.

The blonde hostess immediately pulled out from under the counter a tray. On it was a pair of wine glasses filled with an orange liquid and next to them, a assortment of different colored pills, all in pairs. "Drinks and stimulant doses free of charge."

Frowning at the glass, she asked, "Do you have any water?"

The hostess looked confused for a moment before quickly smiling once again. "I'm sorry, Davanilia is experiencing a shortage and it is unknown when our next shipment will be in. Please enjoy our custom cocktail, which is equally as hydrating and has mineral infusion."

"Sir," Tanya continued as Clara cautiously took the glass, "Your lodgings. We have openings on the third, eighth, and tenth floors."

"Third is fine," the Doctor grumbling, digging into his coat as he spoke.

"Alright, do you have any wants for your room? We have some spare swings, an assortment of wedges and pillows - "

"We're fine, fine - here, my card." The Scott stuck the psychic paper in Tanya's face. Upon reading it, Tanya immediately blushed.

"My apologies, sir. We will get your penthouse suite set up immediately. Our suites come with all the extra items I stated previously. Will you need anything else?"

"Separate beds please," he answered, pocketing the brochure as he spoke.

The only word to describe Tanya's face would be incredulous. "I'm sorry, sir?"

"He said separate beds. If you don't have any in the suites, we can just have a normal room. We don't want to be a fuss," Clara placed her hand on the counter and smiled kindly.

"I'm sorry - we don't - I - I've haven't ever heard of such a thing."

**AN- I probably should read over this and edit it but I really wanted to get out another chapter while I was on break. Happy Thanksgiving! Hopefully, this chapter wasn't too weird o.o I'm a little rusty**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: All the fluff, I tried to keep the Doctor in character**

"Separate beds. A room with two beds rather than one. A bed is a piece of furniture for sleep of rest, typically a framework with a mattress and coverings. Do you not use those here – the bro-"

"Doctor…" Clara elbowed him sharply and then winced at the contact. Damn insect alien.

"What? It's an inn – an inviting inn, no less." The Doctor looked at Tanya for some validation. "Isn't that the name of this place?"

Tanya nodded somewhat automatically and the other hostess leaned in over the counter, her cleavage not so subtly practically spilling over.

"We do have a special on the classic sub and dom set up, if that's what you need, sir?"

"Yes."

"No!"

The Doctor swiftly placed his left hand behind Clara's neck and squished her neck firmly. "Eager beaver, this one. In character already."

Clara glared up at the Doctor only to receive a clear "Clara-don't-be-a-pudding-brain" look. She held her tongue as the hostess named Tanya started walking them to their…room. She wasn't exactly terrified at the idea of sub and dom, she didn't imagine the Doctor actually performing BDSM on her person. Then again…she would be lying if she wasn't cautious about the Doctor and his sexual experiences.

Mainly her first bow-tie doctor and ever hyper-sexual River Song. While River was…more than willing to rave on and on about her various suitors and sexual life, she never did reveal explicit details about her relationship with the Doctor. Probably for good reason. They might not have had proper relations; other than kisses, the floppy haired Doctor acted like the perfect virgin. Everyone else in River's sex life, however, was fair game. She had heard very, very explicit stories about different aliens and even a certain Jack Harkness, a man she had only heard from the Doctor to be quite the annoying fellow. Whenever he would come up in conversation, her old Doctor would turn slightly pink and call him an eccentric fellow. When Clara managed to slyly bring Jack up in a conversation with the new Doctor, (despite River making her swear to never tell the Doctor or even hint about her and Jack), his eyebrows went ballistic.

"_Who told you about him?" His accent became more pronounced when he got flustered. It was quite funny to watch._

"_You did. Don't you remember?" Technically she wasn't lying. "But he was one of your travelling friends, wasn't he?" They had been talking somewhat casually about his other encounters with Daleks and a few of his other companions' names had come up. Mind you, the Doctor made a point to be very vague about their current whereabouts but he was at least more open about them than previously. _

"_Yes, I suppose I did, didn't I? But yes, he was a friend of mine. Bantered with anything else with a pulse."_

"_Banter, eh?" She fiddled with a bookshelf, fringing casual interest. _

"_Banter, flirt, whatever you want to call it. His hello got everyone's knickers in knots. It was disgusting. I even kissed him once, mind you it was-"_

"_You what?" Clara whipped about her head to face the Doctor, interest now pronounced. _

_The Doctor suddenly found something very necessary to tinker with in the TARDIS's controls. "Kissed him, yes. It was more him than me. And besides he just used it as an excuse to kiss Rose, I swear he did."_

"_Did he often go about doing that, kissing people?"_

_He groaned in response. "That and making eyes at people. It was impossible to travel with that man. And his TARDIS bedroom – the filth, the fluids! Good riddance, I say."_

_Ignoring the thought of fluids, Clara found herself frowning at the Doctor saying 'good riddance'. "Well I hope you don't always love it when people up and leave you. You'll probably throw a party when I stop travelling with you." It was a half joking, half serious statement. _

_At the words 'leave you', the Scottish man's hands had stilled and he turned to face Clara, who was standing upstairs with a book in hand. Looking up, his face suddenly had a very serious look. _

"_Nonsense, why would I want you to ever leave me?" _

_There was a pregnant pause of what could be best called emotion. The Doctor then quickly spun around and slapped a level on the control panel. Clara squealed at the dive the time machine gave._

"_Now, how about some radioactive shrubbery!?" _

"Your room, sir." Tanya opened the second door after coming out of the elevator with an index finger scan. Clara nodded, still partially lost in thought. The Doctor's hand was still on her neck, she realized. It was a little rough, his wrinkles leaving gaps in the skin on skin contact. She reached to poke at his wiry fingers and then stopped herself.

"Thank you, Tanya." Tanya gave a quick bow before sauntering off farther down the hall. The Doctor's eyes narrowed slightly at her departure. As he strode into their room, he used that hand to half guide, half drag her in with him. The door swished immediately behind them. As soon as it was properly shut, his hand dropped off of her like she was on fire. For some reason, Clara felt disappointed.

The Doctor stepped farther into the room and let out a low whistle. His hands were now buried in his pockets and he appeared to admiring the sex dungeon that was now their hotel room.

"Quite a collection of whips," he said matter-of-factly.

**AN: I've been watching Classic Who during my winter break and I am loving Two and Three 8D**

**Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than usual; I just wanted to end here. A quick note, as far as I know (and researched), Clara and Jack have not actually met in TV canon. I don't really consider books and echoes as true canon so we are just going to ignore those…**

**Merry Christmas y'all!**


	5. Chapter 5

Clara's mouth went dry at the sight of the room. It looked like something out of a movie set.

It was a fairly large room with red walls and a black ceiling. Most of the objects and furniture was red and black and –

"And decent quality leather, I see." The Doctor was poking the bright red tantra chair directly to the left of the assortment of whips hanging on what looked like a custom whip rack built on the left wall of the room. Clara was still hovering by the door way, no really wanting to enter in anything farther. In front of the entrance was a sort of red leather massage chair with cuffs and next to it, a hanging cot of some sort. Behind the two odd pieces of furniture was a cross-like structure with handcuffs attached to the each end. There was a queen sized bed with a canopy frame against the far wall, the sheet a deep red with black lace detail. She was fairly certain that there was a glass strap-on dildo nestled in between the decorative pillows. Every item in the room oozed of sex and she wasn't sure how to feel.

The doctor, on the other hand, had no problem poking and handling all the equipment scattered through the room. All the while, Clara stood in silence in the entry way, the Doctor was scrambling around the room, making sarcastic comments about everything. It was when he was jumping on top of the bed, making some comment about the flexibility that Clara snapped out of her reverie.

"Doctor…"

"What?" His eyebrow rose in question.

"So you purposely forgot to mention that Davanilia had a sex hotel that was conveniently the closest building to the TARDIS landing?" Her tone was teasing but the Doctor knew better. She sounded uncertain. She took a step forward, toward the bed. The Doctor had stopped jumping on the bed, simply standing still on top of the bed. His tuff of grey hair brushed against the ceiling.

"No. Davanilia was only ever known for its waterfalls – there was some extraordinary inflation that took place as well but that's quite the opposite of what tourists were interested in…" His right hand loosely hung on one of the bed canopy pillars as he somewhat gracefully hopped off the bed. Hand still on the pillar; he stood still, head tilted in thought. "At least 300 years ago. This entire situation reeks of intervention."

"Outside planetary intervention." Clara said, with a note of finality.

"Yes. Precisely. No water, random sex hotel, random new structures…" He reached in his coat jacket and pulled out a thin booklet. Before she could blink, he had walked over to her to stick it underneath her nose. "Look."

And she looked, flipping it open quickly. It had a typical guide book format and look, a few big pictures and a lot of small texts and maps.

" 'Davanilia. Plan. Discover. Explore'…." Clara read as she closed it to touch the cover, which had a bright blue waterfall with overlay text.

"No, Clara. Look!" He snatched from her hand (despite her exclamation) and opened it to a certain page. Clara looked and read out loud.

" 'Davanilia prides itself on its maintenance of nature's natural beauty. Palm trees will sway and provide the perfect breeze as you relax in your one of a kind hut on the bay.' " There was a featured picture of a straw hut standing in the middle of clear turquoise ocean. A picture featured on the next page was a simple field of green grass with two extremely tall palm trees on the side.

"See?"

Clara nodded, still looking at the page. "Something made the people of Davanilia lose all their water and give up all their nature and hippie ways for…all of this." She gestured to the room before turning another page in the guidebook.

" ' The native locals of Davanilia are famous for their practices and beliefs in water spirits. You can find them near the east coast, practicing rituals to wedding their children at the age of 25.' " In the picture next to the text, there was a bride, dressed in a long white sundress next to a bare chested groom. They were standing on the water's edge, each of them holding what looked like a coconut on fire.

The Doctor had since then sat down on the red tantra chair and was holding his face in his hands.

" 'You can watch part of the sacred wedding ceremonies for a small fee. Locals are open to visitors up to the point of the nightly consummation of the two virgin newlyweds.' "

Still feigning interest in the guide book, Clara addressed him. "So now what?"

There was a pause.

"What do you mean, now what?"

"What do we do," Clara slapped the book down on her thigh to glare at the Doctor. "Your TARDIS obviously wants us to figure out what's happening with this planet and won't let us leave. Even if we were to find a compass somewhere in this bizarre hotel and get back to her, I don't think she would let us in."

"True." The Doctor seemed serenely unaware of the urgency in Clara's thoughts.

She walked over and waved the closed booklet in his face. "Oi!"

"We do what we always do; we investigate." His voice lacked the usual excitement and for once, he sounded like an old, very tired Scottish man. "What we will always do, forever and always. Just once…I would like an actual vacation without a damn species to save."

He looked up at her with his face still in his hands. His eyes drooped slightly.

"Couldn't we just leave them to sleep with each other?" He snapped out. "What's the harm really? A few sexually transmitted diseases, a few leather burns." He was waving his arms excessively, as he always did when particularly against something.

"…you can't be serious." Her incredulous tone seemed to flip a switch in him and all of sudden, the Doctor was off of the chair, rushing toward the bed again. "If you jumped on that-"

"No! No time to jump on beds. No time at all." He was now fiddling with a phone type device on the wall next to the bed. "We have a damn planet to save. Tell me, do you prefer red or black leather to wear?"

"Wh-"

"Yes, red, just what I was thinking as well."

"Doctor!"

**AN: Winter quarter was terribly busy for me – I'm so sorry for the late update but here it is. I tried to keep the Doctor in character, it's been a while since I've watched Season 8. Reviews are love!**


	6. Chapter 6

Whatever questions and exclamations Clara had expressed as the Doctor hovered over the room phone were ignored. If she didn't know the Doctor to have selective hearing, she would have doubted her sanity by now.

"Ah yes please, I was thinking red leather, something she can walk in. No skirts. No, I don't….need easy access to anything!" The Doctor visibly fidgeted in discomfort. "Yes, bring all three. Also, I would like some collars and handcuffs. No, no, those combination pieces with the leather – yes it's shaped like a Y-"

Clara had taken to impatiently tapping her foot as she stood behind him. She was about to begin hitting him on the back of the head in frustration when he whipped around and began looking at her intensely. His free hand was waving around her in a bizarrely calculated way. "36….how many letters? One?" He continued to squint. "I usually get normal small, medium, large sizes so excuse me for not memorizing the corset sizes – bra sizes- will you stop with your eyes, Clara, it's unhealthy-"

"Are you guessing my br-"

He once again turned away from her to face the wall and waved her off with his free hand, "Whatever you call them. And yes I can assure you my purchases are of good quality. No, you can't have their name. Just figure it out. You've seen her. Thank you!" He hung up violently and Clara was fairly certain while the person on the other end was still speaking.

"You were guessing my bra size!" She crossed her arms over her chest automatically. The Doctor walked past her towards the other side of the room as he rolled his eyes.

"Among other things mind you. I honestly don't see why they don't just have a sheet of paper to put your body measurements on. But there was a sheet near the phone…" he started towards the phone to have Clara step in to block him.

"Ignoring the fact that you were just being incredibly rude to me-"

"How?"

"You could have just asked! You know, like a normal hum- ok well, alien being would." She was more flustered by the fact that the Doctor's eyes had wandered around her body for so long. She couldn't help feel a little scrutinized. And another feeling she couldn't quite place.

He just huffed, obviously annoyed but expecting her to react this way. "And would you have told me? Why yes Doctor, I'm a 36B as of late. Here's my waist measurements as well."

She felt her face flush and tried to ignore that the Doctor had definitely taken note of her reaction. How did he know? The Doctor's face was morphed in the definition of smug and she wanted nothing more than to slap him in the face. Hard.

"Over 2000 years old, Clara. It would be somewhat of a crime if I could not at least estimate these types of things." He paused, taking in Clara's mixed expression. "Strictly for regeneration purposes."

The smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth told another story but Clara didn't feel like pressing any further on the subject.

"So why do I need to wear leather and a collar? I'm pretty sure we could probably just go look around the city in our current clothes." The Doctor was already shaking his head.

"You didn't get a look of the view outside from the hallway windows, did you?" Clara was about to reply that no, she did not due to his vice like grab on her neck but he continued on without waiting for her reply. "It appears as though people are dressed in typical cliché sexual role-playing outfits. It is best we try and blend in."

"All the people outside were dressing like that?" It made sense for the hosts of the hotel to be dressed rather provocatively due to the theme but it seemed absurd for regular people in public to walking around in similar clothes. Granted, it was a different world from her own and she felt as though she had seen far worse things than sexual clichés when travelling with the Doctor.

"Unless there's a convention happening around this time then yes I believe so. There was a leather nun, a caveman and a women wearing with a horse mask and nothing else on. And the nun was holding a pineapple." He sniffed in distaste. He hated pineapples.

"….what are you wearing then?" If she was going through the humiliation of wearing some sort of sex costume in front of the Doctor, she had no wish to do it alone. If she even agreed to at all; she still had no idea what he had even requested to be brought over.

The Doctor just raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing? Isn't it dominant enough?" Clara looked at him up and down and laughed. He was wearing his typical outfit, his overcoat looking out of place in the room.

"Hardly. I'm not quite sure where you belong in that, come to think about it."

"Do you have a suggestion then?" His arms were at his sides and his hands were clenching and unclenching from fists.

Clara leaned on her left hip and raised a hand to hold her chin as she stared at him. She held her stare for a good minute or so.

"I don't see why I have to wear anything different. I could be a professor or a business man or something. Isn't there some book about that sort of thing? Blue, Grey? Women love that authority stuff." He seemed to have several arguments ready to not have to wear something different.

Clara waited before saying anything. She wanted to make sure the Doctor agreed to what she was going to say. Some reverse psychology never hurt anyone. "Do we have to stick with leather? I was going to say leather pants and shirt but…"

"I can't 'pull it off'?" He added air quotes to her statement and nodded his head around a bit. Immediately he felt somewhat deflated. His body wasn't what it used to be, it was true. But he could wear as much leather as he wanted.

"I didn't say that," she stroked her chin, "it's just that…you know…" she waved her hand vaguely toward his person.

"What? What's wrong?" He suddenly felt too small from his coat.

"Never mind," She walked closely to him, pretending to still be in deep thought. "I guess you could wear your usual."

"I can do leather. I used to wear a leather jacket all the time, what's the different with pants really?" He sprang towards the phone again.

"Doctor, there really isn't-"

"Shush, I'm calling," He waved at her to be quiet as he viciously began punching in numbers to the device. Clara couldn't help letting out a small smile. Sometimes it really was too easy.

**AN: I'm so late I'm so sorry. But here – hopefully not OOC. **


End file.
